Meet Tigerlily James: romance cynic, North Londoner and die-hard margarita fan.

Tigerlily James has been a member of the Young and Bitter Club ever since she was dumped on Valentine’s day. By her fiancé.

Surviving on a diet of cynicism and margarita-fuelled ‘Misery Dinners’ with her best friends, she’s become a romance free zone…and that’s the way she likes it. Until an invitation for The Ex’s wedding arrives. Suddenly in need of a plus one, Tig has little choice but to bin the takeaways, ditch the greying underwear collection…and start pretending to view the opposite sex as something other than target practise.

Then, she meets Ollie – ie. the perfect solution. No sex. No strings. Fake boyfriend. The only catch is that she has to pretend to be his girlfriend for three whole months.

Dating without the heartbreak: the best idea Tig’s ever had, right? Wrong!

Praise for A.L. Michael

‘I know it’s a good book when I shut the kindle cover and sigh with contentment. The Last Word totally did it for me.’ – 4* from Angela*

‘This is a funny, funny book.’ 5* to The Last Word from Rosee**

‘Fresh, fast and…had that magical romance feeling and a bit of hotness that you just can’t help but love. Absolutely brilliant!’ 5* to The Last Word from The Book Geek Wears Pajamas

‘I LOVED THIS. I laughed, I cried, I fell in love. All of the emotions were felt in the reading of this book and it is definitely one of the best Christmas releases that I’ve read this year.’ 5* to Driving Home for Christmas from Erin’s Choice**

‘I laughed, I cried and I was left with that warm fuzzy feeling you get when you read something wonderful.’ 5* to Driving Home for Christmas from That Thing She Reads

* Review from Goodreads

** Review from Amazon

Also by A.L. Michael

The Last Word

Driving Home for Christmas

My So-Called (Love) Life

A.L. Michael

Copyright

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2015

Copyright © A.L. Michael 2015

A.L. Michael asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2015 ISBN: 9781474030700

Version date: 2018-06-20

A.L. MICHAEL is a twenty something writer from North London, currently living in Watford. She has a BA in English Literature with Creative Writing, and MA in Creative Entrepreneurship (both from UEA) and is studying for an MSc in Creative Writing for Therapeutic Purposes. She is not at all dependent on her student discount card. She works as a creative writing workshop facilitator, and an English tutor, and is currently working on her fourth novel. She has an alarming penchant for puns, is often sarcastic when she means to be sincere, and can spend hours watching videos of Corgis on Buzzfeed. But it’s all research, really.

In the creation of this book, it occurs to me I have quite a few people to thank. Firstly, a big thank you to my publishers and editor for making this writing dream come true! Also a big cheer of appreciation for my parents who are as supportive of my creative career as Tigerlily's parents are in this book- but without being crazy hippies. Thanks to the friends who put up with the silences, the staring into space and the 'I just can't talk about it yet's whilst I was working on this. And finally, to the staff at the Village Hotel, Elstree, for keeping me fed and watered in both the pub and the café whilst I glared at my computer screen in their presence for hours on end!

To all those twenty somethings dealing with 'stuckness'- have courage, make changes, be brave. It gets better.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Praise

Book List

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Excerpt

Endpages

About the Publisher

Chapter One

I am really tired of being miserable, Tigerlily James thought as she marched out of Kings Cross Station. It was the last Thursday of the month, which meant the Misery Dinner at Entangled. She scanned the room for Dana and Ame, knowing that the likelihood they were on time was minimal, and headed over to her usual table.

‘Tigerlily!’ Ruby half ran over to her as she entered, pulling her in for a bear hug, all patchouli and cigarettes. Ruby was the owner of Entangled, but Tig had privately taken her on as a role model and personal saviour. Ruby had her shit together. Today her greying hair was tied back with a rockabilly red scarf, dangling ruby earrings getting caught on Tig’s hair as she pulled back. ‘Early for the Young and Bitter Club today, darling?’

‘It’s a Misery Dinner, not a club,’ Tig corrected, walking over to her usual table.

She knew there was no point arguing; the Misery Dinner was nothing if not a meeting of the Young and Bitter brigade. It was her fault. She’d decided after Darren left that if her love life sucked, her career had gone down the toilet and she was back to living with her uni housemate, well, there should at least be an excuse for monthly margaritas. The idea was to compartmentalise. Once a month they got together to talk about how shit their lives were, to wallow and enjoy moaning about it all. And then they got on with their lives. It made sense at the time, Clint had cheated on Ame, and she was going through divorce proceedings, fighting for the house and thanking whatever deity was responsible for her very modern decision to sign a pre-nup. Tig had yet to remind her that it was she, not God, who’d advised her to be careful about it all.

Which meant, a year down the line, that Ame had a beautiful house in Hampstead, but was still working for her ex-husband. And Dana had thrown herself into work ever since Elodie, refusing to move forward and look for love again, instead settling for working her way up and owning the PR company she worked for by thirty. She was twenty-eight, and almost killing herself to get to the top. It seemed better than the alternative, which involved the realisation that there might not just be one perfect person for everyone, that loves could be multiple and varied. Dana didn’t buy that.

‘You know, you girls will be old before your time if you don’t stop focusing on the negative,’ Ruby said, raising her eyebrows in what was probably meant to be a severe sort of expression. Which was pretty impossible, as Ruby radiated goodness. She was like Audrey Hepburn would have been if she’d run off with a biker and opened a cafe/bar in London at sixty. Ruby was pretty much what Tig wanted to be when she grew up.

‘We’re having dinner, Ruby. We’re not sticking pins into voodoo dolls, or cackling over cauldrons.’

‘You’re wallowing. Two months is pushing it. Seven is taking the piss. You could have almost grown a person in this time!’ Ruby raised an eyebrow.

‘Well, the whole “not growing a person” thing is definitely something to be thankful for. Can I have a margarita now?’

Ruby shook her head, clearly disappointed. ‘Madam, if you were my daughter I’d give you a boot up the bum. But as it is, I’ll settle for sending you death glares across the room until you give in and get over that idiot.’

‘I am over him,’ Tig challenged. ‘I’m just still … in shock.’

‘Shock’s immediate,’ Ruby said severely, looking over the rim of her glasses. ‘Comas can last a lifetime.’

‘You know what this coma patient could use to wake her up? A tequila-based cocktail,’ Tig said pointedly.

‘Lucky for you, the new guy needs the practice,’ Ruby shrugged. ‘I’ll bring it over.’

‘New guy?’

Tig hated when the staff at Entangled changed. She liked it to be her haven, knowing that she could walk in and it would always be the same, only the art on the walls and the cakes on display changing.

‘Short term, four months. Really enthusiastic about bar work,’ Ruby winced as a crash sounded from behind the bar, ‘despite not having worked in a bar for about two years, and being excellent at breaking things.’

‘First days are tough …’ Tig shrugged, trying for hopeful. Ruby looked past her to the door, seeing Ame and Dana come rushing in.

‘I’ll make that three margaritas for the moody madam brigade!’ Ruby chortled. ‘Oh, sweetheart, you left some bits and bobs here last week – a notebook, some letters …’

‘Oh, crap.’ So that’s where her planner was, not under a pile of clothes at home.

‘Artistic people are often awful at life stuff,’ Ruby patted her shoulder.

‘Well, thanks, I feel much better!’

‘I just meant you’re clearly a creative genius!’ Ruby laughed. ‘Hi girls, drinks are on their way!’

Ame threw down her bag, and started unwinding her Hermes scarf, honeyed brown hair falling perfectly at her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry I’m late, I had the worst day, and you’ll never believe what Clint did today –’

‘Hi Tig, how are you? Well, I’m fine, Ame, thanks for asking before you launch into a diatribe about your ex-husband. I really appreciate that I’m more than just an aural punching bag,’ Tig sing-songed, honestly quite tired of hearing all the ways in which Clint was an arsehole. Especially considering she’d spent the year they were engaged and the six months they were married hearing about all the ways in which Clint was the most fantastic of human beings. She kind of just hated him for existing at this point.

‘Jeez, Tig, harsh.’ Ame frowned briefly, and then Tig saw her physically smooth down her brow to avoid getting wrinkles. Sometimes she wondered how they were friends at all. If she’d never started working at the student bar, she and Ame would never have been friends. At least then her friend was fun, silly and joyous. Now she seemed to walk around with a perpetual pinched look, eyes raised to the sky like she was waiting for a piano to fall on her head. Which would have been fine if it was just the Misery Dinners, but Ame’s misery was bleeding into every other part of her life, which, as her housemate, or lodger, was pretty damn difficult.

‘Well, Ame, you maybe should greet people before hitting them over the head with your emotional issues,’ Dana shrugged, then sighed as her phone flashed up. ‘Sorry, it’s a client, I have to take this.’ She shuffled over to an empty corner, coat still half on, long dark hair tied back in a bun. Dana was an Amazon of a woman, tall and powerful, her pinstriped suit perfectly pressed even after a long day. But she looked weary.

‘Well, Dana, maybe if you weren’t so emotionally repressed you’d hear where I was coming from!’ Ame hissed at her back.

‘This is getting off to a great start,’ Tig sighed.

‘Even when she leaves work she can’t leave work.’ Ame tried for a half smile and a shrug, looking at Tig hopefully. ‘I’m sorry, hun. I’m working on not being such a bitch all the time. How are you?’

Like an ant stuck in amber, Tig thought to herself, trying to smile back because Ame was making an effort.

‘I’m okay,’ she replied.

‘Do any work today?’ Ame prodded.

‘I worked with Petunia and Theo,’ she said in a huff, knowing that wasn’t what Ame meant at all.

‘Are you planning on getting back to photography any time soon? I know that teaching art to privileged four-year-olds in Hampstead mansions is good money, but it’s not really a career choice, is it?’

Ame had this way of throwing out hurtful comments like they were facts. Sadly, most of the time they were facts, so you didn’t feel justified in getting upset. It was just one of the many irritating traits Tig had noticed about her friend, living with her post-university. Back then they’d never had a problem. But Ame had been more fun then. They both had. Maybe it wasn’t just Tig, maybe they were all getting more bitter by the moment.

‘Ame. Shut up. She’s doing fine.’ Dana strode back over, phone tucked away, pulling her hair out of the tight bun and massaging her scalp delicately, wincing slightly. ‘You are, aren’t you?’

Tig nodded.

‘Then leave her the hell alone,’ Dana demanded, picking up her menu to signify the conversation was over. Dana was learning to become more demanding. She’d been reading a lot of personal development books, doing anything she could to get to the top. Tig suspected it was more a way of filling her time and avoiding getting on with her life than it was a result of particularly loving her job, but Dana was just quietly getting on, so you couldn’t really call her on it.

‘I’m just trying to be supportive!’ Ame was good at the outrage these days, too. ‘She’s a brilliant photographer and there are other gigs out there. You don’t have to be a wedding photographer anymore …’

‘Ames,’ Tig held up her hand, ‘I really appreciate what you’re saying. And I’ll get there. I’m making enough money for rent and a gym membership and monthly margaritas, so unless you’re about to kick me out, I should be fine. Tell us about your day.’

Ame rarely needed an excuse to launch into the tales of woe in her office, centred around her arsehole ex-husband.

‘He keeps shagging these interns in his office, and then sending them to deliver files to me, still smelling of sex,’ she raged, ‘and they look so embarrassed, because they know who I am and what he’s doing. Though, I mean, they should know better than to sleep with their boss –’

‘Ah!’ Dana pointed.

‘I heard myself say it!’ Ame said. ‘Okay, so we all make mistakes! Women are victims, men are evil! I’m not blaming the sisterhood! Okay!’

‘Um,’ a male voice said into the stilted silence, ‘three much-needed margaritas?’

Tig looked up to see the new barman, standing awkwardly with a tray in his hand. Dirty blond hair, stubbled jaw, blue eyes. He was wearing a smart white shirt, rolled up at the sleeves to reveal old-school sailor tattoos on his forearms. Exactly the type to bartend at Entangled. Friendly enough, but always with enough edge to remind you they’re out of your league. Not that she was in anyone’s league, or looking to play a ball game of any sort. Tig realised no one had answered him.

‘Hi, yes, thanks! Desperately needed!’ She unnecessarily tried to clear some space on the table for him to put the drinks down. He twitched a smile at her, which she twitched back. Ame and Dana seemed to be having a huffing match about feminist standpoints under their breath, so she turned back to the new guy. She might as well be friendly, seeing as she was at Entangled more than her own home these days. You always wanted the staff on your side.

‘How’s the first day going?’

‘I’ve only broken three glasses and spilled ice all over the floor so that Ruby tripped head over arse,’ he shrugged. ‘Not at all mortifying.’

‘First time bartending?’ she asked. Am I prying? Why am I forcing this conversation when he’s clearly hovering about like he needs to go? Shut up, Tig.

‘Nope, just out of practice. And I’m going to blame jetlag, and first day nerves, and anything else I can think of! Just yell when you want the next round of drinks. I can almost guarantee I won’t screw them up,’ he winked and strode off.

Tig smiled, remembering how awful her first day had been in the SU bar, where she’d dropped a pint of snakebite down her front and the rugby team had made her swear so effusively she was sure she’d get fired. Instead the manager had patted her on the shoulder, given her a towel and said, as long as she kept that mouth on her, she’d make it through alive.

Tig turned back to see if her friends had stopped arguing. They had. In fact, they were both looking at her like she’d morphed into some sort of terrible sea creature.

‘What?’

‘You … him …’ Ame pointed at the bar, and Tig felt a violent irritation stir in her chest.

‘I had a conversation with Ruby’s new barman, Ame. It’s called being polite. It doesn’t mean I’ve suddenly solved all my problems, will get into a relationship, go back to work, get married and have babies,’ she spat. ‘It means I was tired of you two bitching at each other once again, and made conversation elsewhere.’

They looked at her, this time like the terrible sea creature had revealed talons and a bad dye job.

‘Okay, Tig, calm down.’ Dana made soothing noises. ‘I think Ame was trying to point out, in a very positive way, that it was nice to see you making an effort to welcome a new person to Entangled. Especially a person who happens to have a penis, because you’ve spent the last seven months wanting to chop off all the ones in the immediate vicinity, regardless of who they’re attached to.’

Tig blinked. ‘And that’s why you work in PR.’

She took a deep breath and tried not to blush as she thought about her overreaction. ‘I swear I never used to be so mean. Or angry. I mean, I’ve always had the ability to be a bitch …’

‘No, you haven’t,’ Dana smiled. ‘In fact, for the most part, you’ve always been a big hippie softie. Think you might have lost that somewhere along the way.’

‘Maybe Ruby’s right, maybe the Misery Dinners are making things worse,’ Tig shrugged, sipping her drink and sighing in relief.

‘They’re helping, Tig, honestly,’ Ame said forcefully.

‘So you’re done moaning about Clint? You’ve worked through that?’

‘He hurt me, Tig. That takes time …’ Ame shook her head. ‘You just don’t get it.’

Tig closed her eyes and took a deep breath, tucking her red hair behind her ears. Living with Ame had been a bad idea. When Darren had dumped her on Valentine’s Day, and Ame found out Clint was cheating, it made sense for them to move in together. And whine (with wine) together. Tig had given up the wedding photography business and Ame let her stay in the Hampstead flat for minimal rent, which she’d really appreciated. But Ame had started to become … difficult. She lived in a permanent state of outrage, and was getting more and more bitter. Which wasn’t helping Tig to become the glass-half-full type girl she’d been before, either.

You get hurt, you wallow, you move on. Those were the rules. Tig had spent the first few weeks after the break-up almost catatonic, permanently drunk and stoned, slowly eating her way through two hundred wedding cupcakes embossed with ‘Mr and Mrs’. The next couple of months she graduated to quietly drinking neat vodka, curled up on the sofa in front of romantic comedies, waiting until the final scene to shout, ‘Sure, it’s all great now, but wait until he leaves you because your tits got too small!’

But she was past that now. She was. She got dressed, she went to the gym. She could be trusted not to warp the world views of young children, and as of today she had interacted with a male without wincing. She was improving.

‘I know what it’s like to be hurt,’ Tig said calmly, ‘and I know what it feels like to get so bitter and twisted that you don’t really like yourself anymore. I want to be happy.’

Dana nodded, with that quiet, approving presence that she had. ‘That’s great. So are you going to start up the photography business again? Back to weddings?’

Tig’s stomach plummeted. Okay, so … maybe she wasn’t so ready. She could grow, and be happy, but being around weddings again? She still couldn’t look at her portfolio without crying. Her wedding dress was hanging in the back of her wardrobe almost a year later, with the ‘five days to go!’ tag still tied around the hanger.

The problem was, she was good at wedding photography. She’d been planning her and Darren’s big day for almost three years, and during that time, meeting other brides, retailers, she’d accidentally started a business. Become an institution. The other brides liked her because she was in the same situation as them; she knew what they wanted, because she wanted it too. She’d paid for the wedding with their weddings. She was so happy those three years, meeting all these people, making plans. Finally being able to pack in the insurance job to take photos for a living, the dream she’d had since uni. It was hard not to blame Darren for taking all that away. It was harder to stop blaming herself for letting it stay that way.

‘I’m … I’m going to find a way to use my skills without doing the wedding thing just yet … maybe, at some point. Just, not yet.’

She tried not to let her positive attitude be knocked down by lack of a plan. Or any plan. She couldn’t deal with photographing babies, their pudgy little alien faces gumming at her as she tried to get them to smile without puking everywhere. What did that leave? Being a camera assistant at Harry Potter World, most likely. London was teeming with unemployed artists, and every year she felt her chest constrict as another wave of graduates flooded into the job pool.

Her friends shrugged, and thankfully Dana started moaning about her client list, and her obsessive boss who kept changing the brief every thirty seconds, and Ame went back to Clint and the bitches at work, so Tig could sit and let it wash over her. She looked at her two friends, taking in Ame’s perfect skin and flawless make-up, Dana’s expensive suits and towering heels, and wondered what had happened. Surely it was only weeks ago they were at uni, drinking pink Lambrini through jumbo straws and wondering why everyone was into dubstep? Yet here they were, prematurely middle-aged singletons, moaning about everything. At least Ame and Dana looked like adults, Tig thought sadly, looking down at her clothes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn something that wasn’t tie-dye coloured or some sort of elasticated fabric. She was sure she used to wear clothes that weren’t yoga pants, once upon a time. When she’d first lost weight, she’d experimented wearing all those skimpy little clothes she’d never felt comfortable wearing, but the truth was, even a few stone lighter, she still didn’t feel comfortable. It just wasn’t her. So she’d reverted to her hippie clothing, and tried to ignore the fact that, more and more every day, she seemed to be turning into her parents.

The rest of the meal seem to pass easily enough, and Tig concentrated on focusing individually on their problems, but had long since stopped trying to offer solutions. Ame simply wanted to moan, and Dana seemed to offer up work problems because she didn’t want to moan about anything important, but didn’t want to be left out.

‘You coming?’ Ame asked, putting her coat on and leaving a tip on the table. Dana had already run for the DLR to get to Greenwich. Ame and Tig always travelled home together after the dinners, but tonight she just didn’t feel like it.

‘I’ve got to collect some stuff from Ruby, and then I think I might go to the studio for a few hours. All this talk about my photography has got me thinking,’ she lied, hoping Ame would just let it go for once.

‘You’re going to go now? How will you get home?’

‘Probably call Sergei for a cab, don’t worry about me.’ Tig hugged her best friend, inhaling the ever-present smell of Chanel No. 5 that had always defined her, even when they met in the bar during Freshers’ Week.

‘I’m not worried about you! What if I get attacked on the way home?’ Ame said, appalled. It took a second for that glint to appear in her eye, and for Tig to realise she was joking. It had been ages since she’d been able to properly read her best friend.

The minute Ame was through the door, Tig collapsed back into her chair, breathing a deep sigh of relief. It was the first time she’d felt able to breathe all night.

‘Here you go.’ The new barman reappeared with a large glass of red wine. ‘You look like you need it.’

‘I’ve been getting that a lot today,’ she frowned. ‘Do I look like an alcoholic?’

‘You look like someone sitting in a bar with a sad, wistful look. And when I bring women chocolate cake to cheer them up, they look at me like I’m the devil.’

Tig raised an eyebrow. ‘You need to hang out with better women.’

‘I’m trying,’ he grinned.

She tensed, then decided that maybe, yes, not every man needed the Wrath of Tig. Especially when they had green eyes and toned arms and tattoos. Not that he wouldn’t turn out to be a massive dick, and it wasn’t like it mattered, but … well, he was quite nice to look at. And he brought her wine. And there was the possibility that he might bring her cake.

‘We didn’t do the name thing,’ Tig gestured between them.

‘Right. I’m Ollie.’ He reached out to shake her hand, whilst she stared at him before shaking back briefly.

‘Formal. Okay.’

‘You’re Tig. Ruby said you’re a regular,’ Ollie nodded. ‘What’s Tig short for?’

‘Tigerlily.’

‘Bullshit!’ He laughed, and watched as she raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms.

‘Um, and by that I mean, my name is Ollie and I’m new here and nervous and jetlagged and once again going to use every excuse I can to undo what I just said. Tigerlily. I like it.’ He made a face, wincing at her to see if her stern impression had weakened. ‘How about if I give you free chocolate cake and back away slowly? That sound good?’

She broke, smiling a little to herself. Somehow he was even more appealing chewing at his lip, nervously dragging a hand across his jaw. It was nice not to be the one saying the wrong thing for once.

‘It’s okay. I get it a lot. My parents are hippies.’ She paused. ‘Also, today is the first time in months I’ve managed to talk to a man without wanting to throttle him for things that my ex did, so, you know, congratulations on that. I’m afraid I don’t have a prize for you.’

Ollie tilted his head to the side like he was trying to tell if she was joking. ‘Okay, in which case, definitely cake. Let’s try and keep this whole “not throttling me” business going.’

He had a nice voice, she decided, warm, with a slight American lilt behind the London sharpness. She wondered what that was about, whether he was jetlagged from a trip back from America. And then Tig realised it was none of her business. But she smiled again, and shrugged, because you never turn down cake. A yell from behind the bar broke the moment, and he grinned, saluting. ‘Lovely to meet you, Miss Tigerlily, I’ll return with your bribe momentarily.’ He went to walk away. ‘Oh, wait, Ruby said you’d left these papers here?’

He placed a collection of letters and notes on the table, smiling as he rushed back to the bar.

Tig traced the mosaic tabletop with her fingers, riffling through the papers absentmindedly as she sipped her wine. Things were changing, she could tell. Everything was already starting to get better. Her positive attitude had created a positive situation. Maybe this rut was finally done.

There was an unopened envelope in the pile, thick and cream, her name written in royal blue ink. It looked official. Tamara was probably getting married, or Dahlia, or any of the other nice enough posh birds from uni that she had never really been close to, but who still insisted on calling her ‘bestie’ and crushing her ribcage whenever she ran into them on Essex Road.

She opened it, noticing the sweet lace edging, the soft feel of the textured paper. Expensive. She’d spent ages looking at invitations. She’d gone with a more informal feel, more shabby chic, laid-back. More like them … like her.

She scanned through the parents to the names of the happy couple. She thought she would fall off her chair with the shock, and held tight to the table for fear the world was turning on its axis. Darren was getting married. The bastard.

*****

Her only choice was to get as drunk as possible. And it wasn’t far off closing time at Entangled.

‘Hey, Michelle?’ Tig waved over to the dark-haired girl behind the bar. ‘Could I have a bottle of red wine, two shots of sambuca, and absolutely no judgement, please?’

Michelle blinked a couple of times and then shrugged. ‘I’ll bring it over.’

That was how Tig came to be craned over the invitation, tracing the embossed lettering and wondering who the hell Abigail Jensen was.

‘Uh oh, what happened here?’ Ollie sat in the chair next to her.

‘Nothing,’ Tig grumbled, not looking up.

‘Well, when I left you ten minutes ago, there was a glass of wine. There is now half an empty bottle.’

‘Or half a full bottle,’ she said seriously, ‘plus two shots of sambuca. I hate sambuca.’

‘So …?’ Ollie tilted his head to the side again, and she got the feeling she was a fascinating exhibit in a museum, like a strangely grotesque thing you’d find in one of those old-fashioned circus acts. It was irritating.

‘Here,’ she thrust the invitation at him, and refilled her wine glass.

He held it close to his face, then held it at arm’s length, squinting. He looked at her, and said, ‘Well, that is tacky as fuck.’

‘Really?’ Tig replied, hopeful.

‘No idea, seemed the thing to say.’

Tig rolled her eyes, and slumped back in her chair, arms crossed.

‘Ex?’

‘Yup.’

‘How long?’

‘Broke up seven months ago …’

Ollie winced.

‘On Valentine’s Day… five days before our wedding,’ she finished. His eyebrows shot up.

Ollie ran a hand through his hair and sighed deeply, his eyes wandering around until they settled on her. Pity. She couldn’t stand pity.

‘Do you want that cake now?’

‘Promises, promises,’ she said. ‘Thanks, but I think I’m okay.’

‘You do seem okay. How are you doing that?’

‘Sheer force of will,’ she exhaled, ‘and alcohol.’

She sipped at her wine, a little more delicately now, allowing the warmth to settle in on her. Ollie was a surprisingly comforting presence. Moaning at someone who didn’t really know you, didn’t try to fix everything. Maybe that’s what the Misery Dinners were trying to achieve, when really they all needed therapy.

‘So, why’d you break up?’

She tapped at the table, trying to find the best way to phrase it. She’d been asked that question so many times at the beginning. To strangers, she said it just didn’t work out, spared Darren for some reason. Some days, when she was feeling kind, it was that they were too young, the spark had gone, and you grow out of each other. But it was the sort of evening where she had to be brutally honest.

‘He dumped me because I started going to the gym and my tits got too small. Apparently.’

Ollie coughed. ‘Well, obviously he’s an idiot. A blind idiot. A massive, blind idiot.’

Tig grinned, somehow comforted when other people lost their cool.

‘Not that it’s polite to point such things out,’ he added primly, ‘but really … your boobs are magnificent.’

‘Magnificent?’ She tilted her head to the side.

‘Not that I’ve looked. But you know, peripherally, the idea of them that I got from only looking at your face during all our interactions would suggest that they’re magnificent.’

She snorted. ‘Thanks, I think.’

‘You are most sincerely welcome, Tigerlily,’ he grinned.

What was going on here? Why was he sitting with her, listening to her moan, offering her cake and telling her how great her boobs were? Was he trying to make sure she was on his side, knowing Ruby would probably ask her opinion on the new bar staff? Ame would have told her to stop being an idiot and realise he was trying to shag her. Dana would have shrugged and said she really didn’t get men and their motivations. He was painfully beautiful. Thick Bambi lashes and green eyes that seemed a little too bright to be natural. She felt awfully plain around him, sitting in her yoga pants, clutching her wine glass, tugging at her red braid. There would have been a time when she’d have walked in, and talked to Ollie without thinking anything of it. Not questioning his motivations, just secure in knowing that she was a good enough person to talk to. Funny how dropping a few dress sizes had changed the game. Well, that and Darren.

‘No one really calls me Tigerlily. It’s just Tig.’

‘Not Lily?’

She thought of Darren, all the bunches of lilies he’d bought for her over the years, after staying out late, missing her birthday, the text messages from other girls. Lilies were for apologies, and that wasn’t her anymore.

‘Nope. Just Tig.’

‘Or Tigger?’ he grinned.

‘Well, you know what the wonderful thing about Tiggers is?’

‘That Tiggers are wonderful things?’

‘No. That they will punch you in the face if you can’t get their fucking name right.’

He drew in a sharp breath, staring at her, then burst out laughing. ‘You are a strange and terrifying lady.’

‘That’s what they tell me.’

They sat quietly for a moment, listening as the faint sound of The Smiths floated around in the background.

‘How are you getting over this ex, then?’

By sitting at home each night with my bitter housemate, imagining bludgeoning him to death with my bra?

‘Um …’

‘Are you dating?’ Ollie leaned forward, as if he was suddenly her therapist.

‘I don’t date.’

‘Casual sex, then?’

Her eyebrows raised with her voice. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Well, if you’re not into dating, I assume you’re more into one-nighters,’ Ollie rationalised.

Tig felt her stomach twist. ‘I don’t really know how to date. I was with Darren since we were fifteen. I’ve never really done the dating thing. I’m not even sure we dated when we were teenagers. You just sort of ‘hang out’ at fifteen, don’t you?’

‘Yeah.’ He just looked at her. ‘I guess. So … you’ve never been with anyone except him? How long were you together?’

‘Almost twelve years.’

‘Jesus,’ he said quietly, ‘so … are you not going to put yourself out there?’

Tig paused and just looked at him, all earnest and interested, and she was angry at herself, at how bitter she’d become, because all she could do was look at him and think What game are you playing? What do you want from me?

‘I don’t tend to share all this crap with someone I’ve only just met.’

‘Sometimes that’s the best way.’

‘Well, it makes me feel … vulnerable.’ She scowled. ‘I don’t know anything about you.’

He shrugged. ‘Ollie Carver. Twenty-nine and freaking out about it. I’m here for four months waiting for my next contract to start. And I am in a uniquely good position to help you change your life. Or at least re-enter the dating scene.’

‘Ooh, smooth.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Because you shag around a lot?’

Ollie frowned. ‘No, smart arse. I actually married my high-school sweetheart, and had to learn to date once it was all over. I was you, three years ago.’

‘Oh.’ She felt her cheeks warm. ‘Sorry.’

‘No biggie,’ he shrugged, ‘but at least you know I get where you’re coming from. And it’s a lot easier without the whole wedding thing. You lose deposits, but you save on lawyers’ fees.’

Tig tilted her head to look at this guy who had her spilling her guts after only meeting him a few hours before. ‘You seem so well adjusted.’

He laughed, loudly. ‘It’s an illusion. Tigerlily, I am an absolute mess. But I live by one rule now: don’t sacrifice my life for anyone. I do what makes me happy, and I don’t give that up. No demanding girlfriends, no ultimatums, no sacrifice. No one controls me.’

Tig tried to imagine what a life without sacrifice was like, but all she could think of was letting Ame have the last few scoops of the Haagen Dazs when she wanted them.

‘You’re thinking that sounds like a pretty selfish way to live, I’m guessing.’ He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward to capture her attention again. Whenever she met his eyes she was always a little startled.

‘Actually, I was thinking that sounds like a wonderful way to live. No obligations, no responsibilities except your own happiness. I like it, I think I’m going to steal it. How’s it working out for you?’

Ollie’s mouth twitched. ‘A little lonely,’ he admitted. ‘Women seem to think it’s me being a typical male – I won’t go see a chick flick with them if it’s not what I want to do, but that’s not really what it’s about. I don’t mind compromise, I just won’t sacrifice what I care about.’

Tig watched his face change, how he looked sad, indignant, and, yes, lonely. Someone had screwed him, obviously, but who was she to talk? And she certainly wasn’t at the point of prodding at someone else’s wounds, not yet anyway.

‘So you’ve got nothing against chick flicks?’

‘If anything, they are a weapon in my arsenal of tricks to get women to let me into their knickers,’ Ollie grinned. ‘I’m a sensitive guy.’

‘Like fuck,’ she snorted, and watched as muscles in his forearms moved. The guy was a machine, perfectly tuned. Sure, he seemed nice enough, but this was not a guy who cried, or whined when you went out with your friends, or made you feel guilty about things. Ollie was clearly a man.

‘I’m sensitive! I’m very good at feelings –- I knew what you needed this evening, didn’t I?’

‘Wine and cake? Yes, you’re a mind reader.’ She rolled her eyes.

‘I’m a fixer,’ he shrugged. ‘I knew what you needed tonight, and I know what you need now.’

‘Let me guess.’ She put on her shocked voice. ‘It’s to go home with you tonight and put on a chick flick, right?’

‘Ooh, look who got all defensive when she thinks someone’s trying to get into her panties,’ he snorted. ‘I’m not hitting on you. I’m offering to help you.’

‘With your dick,’ she snorted, almost itching for an argument. Stop punishing random men, Tigerlily, she thought to herself, shaking her head.

‘Hey New Guy! Little help?’ Anna at the bar called over, and he nodded, signalling to Tig that he’d be back in a minute.

She really needed to stop being so insane. Really. The guy was trying to be nice, as far as she could tell. He’d been in the same situation as her. He knew what it was like to suddenly be an adult and have no idea how to do any of the things you’re meant to know how to do as an adult. Like have a conversation with someone who wants to sleep with you.

This guy could teach me things, she thought, and then blacked out all the images her brain sent her way in response to that idea. He could teach her lots of things, lots of really bad things. But the point was, Ollie had survived. He’d been married, and he’d learnt how to date, and here he was, living his life on his own terms. She should be like that.

Her head hurt just thinking about it. She looked down at the invitation again, and reached up to undo her braid, gently rubbing the roots of her red hair with her fingertips, closing her eyes as it stung with relief. It was like every uptight bit of her sat in her hair, creeping down her neck muscles. She needed to relax.

And what was he asking of her? Nothing, as far as she could tell. He was offering advice. Maybe suggesting they hang out. He could be her Mr Miyagi, show her the wax-on, wax-off of the heart.

That was the saddest thing, she thought – that she didn’t know how to trust men anymore. She couldn’t read the signals, the intentions. She’d spent so long being sweet, chubby Lily with all the boy mates that the minute she got confident and Darren left, she was just … shell-shocked.

Matt had been the main one, one of their oldest friends, since secondary school. He was going to be the best man at their wedding. When he found out Darren had ended it, he’d been so sweet, all those text messages letting her know he was still her friend, he was still there for her, that things between them hadn’t changed. He’d come round, with wine and Chinese food and let her cry on him for an hour … and then put his hand down her top and tried to kiss her. She supposed she should have felt flattered, but really she just felt sick. The rest of the lads had turned on her after that, calling her a prick tease, thinking she was too good for them since she’d become a ‘skinny bitch’. She didn’t know how getting healthy and getting dumped made her the bad guy. And now Darren was doing it all over again. She downed the rest of the wine, and put her head on the table, so very tired of everything.

She needed a change. No more Misery Dinners. No more Darren. No more anger and bitterness. She had to let a little light in. After a night of swearing and violently vomiting up sambuca, obviously.

‘I was thinking we might be the answer to each other’s problems.’ Ollie reappeared and sat down opposite her. She slowly lifted her head off the table, and opened one blurry eye to look at him.

‘Owls blat?’

‘What?’

Tig took a deep breath and tried again, enunciating clearly. ‘How’s that?’

‘Well,’ Ollie leaned in, hands moving all over the place, ‘you need a nice, non-grabby fella to lead you into the dating world, show you the ropes, right?’

Tig shrugged.

‘And I need someone to stop my crazy neighbour from trying to get into my pants. Or wearing my pants. Or rolling around in a big pile of my pants.’ Ollie shook the image away. ‘You could help with that.’

‘You want me to beat a bitch up?’ Tig frowned, slurring slightly. ‘I mean, I could. I kick-box a lot and I could really do with releasing my aggression right now but I don’t think it’s a good idea, Ollie, really.’ She patted his wrist and smiled. ‘I’m sorry.’

He seemed to be visibly asking for patience, or mercy, or counting to ten, but when he looked at her his eyes were crinkled at the edges and he was smirking.

‘I wasn’t asking you to beat her up, Drunky McDrunkerson, but it’s good to know you have my back. I just meant, you need a fake boyfriend, I need a fake girlfriend, so … how about it?’

Tig wrinkled her nose. ‘Well, that’s in my top three most romantic invitations. Just behind “Who’s a sexy monkey?” and “Roll over”. Cheers, though.’ Tig delicately moved as if to grab her coat, leaning heavily on the table.

‘I’m not trying to shag you! I’m trying to be your friend!’ Ollie said, standing as well.

Tig sobered up quite a bit in that moment. ‘That’s what they all say. They’re your mate, and they’re your fiance’s mate, and then you lose weight, and your fiance dumps you, and all the guys who used to be your friend only care about fucking you. So excuse me if I don’t believe the random guy I met this evening about his intentions. I knew those guys for ten years, and they still screwed me over.’

Tig desperately wanted to make a smooth exit, frantically pushing her arm into the armhole of her coat, which seemed to have tangled in on itself. She finally pushed her arm through, and managed to hit Ollie in the nose.

‘Oh. my God! I’m so sorry!’

Ollie blinked a few times, hand over his face. ‘It’s fine. You really owe me a fake date now, though. What with the assault and everything.’

Tig was exhausted of all this. All she wanted was to get outside, grab a cab, eat a greasy burger and cry very quietly in her room at home. In Ame’s home.

‘Tell me why I should even be bothered considering this,’ she said blankly. ‘You have five minutes. I’m drunk and upset and if I don’t eat a burger soon I’m going to hit someone.’

Ollie pressed his lips together. ‘Good to know what I’m getting into. Food important. Right.’ He took a deep breath, looking down at her with those fuzzy green eyes, all intense and earnest.

‘I promise, I swear to you, no matter what, I won’t try to have sex with you. I literally just want to help you. I’ve been where you are, it’s scary going out into the dating scene when you’ve never done it.’ He scratched his head. ‘And yeah, I want someone to keep this nutter at bay for the last few months I’m here. Plus, I’m a good time! I’m really good at dating, at planning fun stuff and I think you’d have a good time. I just … I’d like someone to spend my time here with, and leave with no regrets.’

Tig fell into her chair with a thud, looking up at him. ‘Are you in sales, by any chance? I feel like a little devilish minion is about to present a contract at any minute, and I’ll have to sign over my soul in my own blood.’

‘Really? A guy saying he’d quite like to take you out and get to know you for a few months is satanic in your eyes?’ Ollie slumped down in the chair again. ‘Anyone ever tell you you’re hard work?’

‘All the time,’ she said, thinking of Darren. Of how he used to stop talking to her when she argued back, because I’m not going to interact with children, Lily. If you want to talk you use your inside voice. That bastard.

‘Look, if you don’t want someone to teach you how to date, and how to move forward, then what do you want?’

‘Why me for this?’ Tig asked suddenly. ‘You could pick up any pretty girl in here. No, don’t look like that – you’re cocky enough to know you’re cute. So why me?’

Ollie grinned. ‘Because you’re completely unaffected by my charms. And because any of those girls wouldn’t know it was fake. Or they’d pretend to be okay with it, and it would all get dramatic, and I hate drama. I’d thought from what you said earlier … I thought it would be mutually beneficial, that’s all.’

Tig looked down at the table, because at least the table wasn’t looking at her with wounded, puppy dog eyes and wanting her to make a decision.

‘What if I say no? Will you trawl for another heartbroken and pathetic girl whose ex is getting married?’

‘No, I’ll probably just unpack my Xbox,’ Ollie grinned. ‘Come on, there must be something you want?’

You naked on my kitchen table? Tig’s mind betrayed her cruelly and she glared at him, because, obviously, this was all his fault.

‘When do you leave London?’

‘Beginning of November,’ Ollie replied seamlessly.

She thought about it. It was only July now, and that envelope in her bag demanded she be the bigger person. Tig smiled at him suddenly, scanning his bright smile in response, how his shirt stretched across his biceps and his jeans hung on his waist. If she turned up with Ollie there was no way anyone would think she wasn’t the happiest girl on earth.

‘I know what I want,’ she said.

‘Tell me.’

Tig pulled the envelope back out of her bag. ‘I want you to go to this with me, as my date.’

Ollie winced. ‘Really?’

‘Isn’t that what fake boyfriends do? Or should I buy myself a gigolo?’ Tig snapped.

‘And now I’m getting the reason for the kick-boxing,’ Ollie said to himself. ‘Okay. I think it’s a bad idea. But okay. It’s two days before I leave. If you still want to go in November, I’ll take you.’

Tig pouted. ‘Shake on it.’

‘You think I’m a liar?’

‘I think we should have a contract written up and a lawyer present, but to be honest all I’m thinking about now is cheese on toast.’ Tig whined a little at the thought of it. Bed and food, and none of this craziness.

Ollie reached across the table to her, and held her hand in his. ‘I promise to show you the dating world, I promise never to sleep with you, and I promise to take you to your ex’s wedding even though it’s the worst idea in the history of bad ideas.’ They shook, but Ollie kept hold of her. ‘Now you.’

‘I promise to pretend to be your girlfriend to keep your crazy neighbour away and I promise not to hit her … well, I can’t say that, I haven’t met her yet, but I shall try to keep all drama to a minimum.’ They shook again.

‘Okay,’ Ollie said. ‘All official, pookie.’

Tig groaned. ‘Should have put that in the bloody contract.’

‘Also, there’s an escape clause. You change your mind at any time, that’s cool.’

‘And if you change your mind …?’ Tig panicked.

‘I will still take you to the wedding. I mean, I’m going to try to persuade you it’s the worst idea ever, but if you still want to go by the time it comes around, I’ll take you.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll walk you out.’

It made sense, she thought. This was a good idea. She reached for her phone and called a cab, sure it would probably be Sergei, who had often taken her home after a few too many in Kings Cross. Comforting, routine. Even in the city, she could rely on things staying the same. She looked at Ollie, blond hair gleaming in the lamplight, looking strong and impossibly gorgeous. They leaned against the railings, waiting for her cab.

‘So, what’s the deal with the neighbour? Couldn’t tell a pretty girl no? You had to create an elaborate scheme?’

‘You haven’t met her.’ He held up his hands. ‘She’s been waiting for me to get home every night. I’ve only been there four days! She’s nuts! She baked me a cake with her hair in!’

Tig frowned. ‘It happens … wait, are you trying to say she purposefully moulted in your pudding? Because you sound a little paranoid.’

Ollie raised his eyebrows and grinned. ‘You’ll see! I don’t usually accost young women on my first night of a new job because I’m scared of my twenty-two-year-old neighbour!’

‘Twenty-two!’

‘I’m glad you agreed, because I told her I was seeing someone.’

‘What exactly did you say?’ Tig asked, worried she’d have to adopt a false identity and pretend to be a doctor. Actually, that sounded like a lot of fun, being someone else for a few months.

‘I said my girlfriend’s really hot and her name’s Tigerlily. It was really lucky I met you tonight.’ Ollie winked and she pinched his arm.

A car horn beeped and Tig saw a hand waving out of a black cab across the road. Sure enough, Sergei stuck his head out. ‘Bit early tonight, Lily, you’re getting old!’

‘And boring!’ she waved back.

‘Party girl, are we?’ Ollie grinned.

‘You have much to discover,’ she smiled back. ‘Well, I’m going to get going, it was nice …’

‘… entering a completely inappropriate verbal contract with you,’ he finished.

She put out a hand to shake, and instead he moved in close to drop a kiss on her cheek. ‘Goodnight, Tigerlily.’

‘Um, fake boyfriend … perhaps you would like my actual phone number? So we could schedule those fake dates you were talking about?’ Tig laughed as he looked a little embarrassed and put her number in his phone. Think you’re so smooth, you’re not, she thought solidly, walking over to the cab, and waving back at him when she got in. She knew, suddenly, she was going to wake up and have dreamed all this. Or she’d go back to Entangled tomorrow and there would be a barman called Ollie, but instead of looking like a blond Adonis, he’d be a weedy seventeen-year-old with acne. No doubt.

‘Who’s that?’ Sergei asked as they started their usual journey.

‘My boyfriend, apparently.’ Tig grinned, and wondered what the hell she’d got herself into.

Chapter Two

When Tigerlily awoke that morning, she was sure that the evening before had just been another drink-fuelled hallucination. She’d had enough of those. But as she brushed her teeth and listened to the usual sound of Ame – ‘Sod sodding arsehole!’ – as she rushed out of the door, already late for work, she realised that her hallucinations were not usually about anything other than destroying Darren. Or occasionally tequila-induced nightmares about her boobs getting bigger and bigger until she suffocated, while he stood over her telling her that, actually, he loved her again.

Tig shook her head, and decided to just get on with her day. She didn’t have to go to Entangled today anyway, so why not forget the whole debacle? Sure, in her head she’d entered a mutually beneficial arrangement with a seemingly nice and definitely gorgeous barman. But in reality, by the state of her headache this morning, for all she knew she could have drunkenly mumbled something and then drooled on him. Who knew?

She walked back into her bedroom, previously Ame’s guest room, all smooth lines and neutral decor, filled to the brim with her tacky, multicoloured belongings. A small portion of her photography equipment, metaphorically gathering dust in the corner, sat piled neatly. Her clothes were mostly in piles on the floor, and a box of art supplies stopped the door from opening too far. She’d at least put her own bedsheets on – or rather, after standing frustrated and being given the option of Ame’s expensive guest sheets or the ones she’d taken from her flat in a rage, only to realise she didn’t want to have the same sheets she’d shared with Darren, Dana had dragged her out to the shops. It was a bit of an existential crisis, one that she didn’t want to deal with. Which was why everything she owned, after years of wearing slimming black, seemed to be tie-dye. She was turning into her parents, but hey, at least they were happy. Kind of dopey hippie types, but happy, in a lasting relationship, with a home and all that stuff.

She went to her bedside table and looked at the invitation again. So classy, so royal, all that fancy calligraphy and expensive paper. She wondered if Darren was actually putting any of his own money towards this wedding. Whether this girl had a ring picked out from a jeweller’s and a proper proposal; whether he’d done all that stuff because he actually wanted to, because he loved her in that proper way. Tig honestly didn’t know why Darren had even proposed in the first place. She’d never been bothered about marriage. Her parents still weren’t married and they’d been together almost thirty years now. He was the one who wanted it, and when she’d agreed, she’d somehow become the fool. Not fair at all.

She placed the invitation in the drawer, underneath a bunch of papers, and tried to ignore the RSVP note. She absolutely should not go to that wedding. But if Ollie wasn’t a figment of her imagination, but actually a real, absolutely gorgeous guy with the sort of hair Darren dyed for, and muscles that he’d never burn his beer belly off for, well … didn’t she sort of owe it to him to turn up? Just to show she had no hard feelings? Or that other men did – for her?

Tig shook her head, irritated at herself for caring, and got herself ready for the gym. A few hours beating the crap out of a punching bag would solve the problem to everyone’s satisfaction. She cycled back a couple of hours later, exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. Tig rested her bike in the hallway, safe in the knowledge that Ame wouldn’t be home for hours, and would never know, and jumped into the shower.

When she got out, she dried herself, dropped the towel, and looked at herself in the mirror. It never seemed to get any easier, even though these days she was kind to herself. She turned this way and that, checking the curves and lines of herself. She liked to see where the exercises she’d done that morning changed her. She was creating herself, carving herself out of stone. She was kind to herself now, no pinching or pulling. Her body was better than that. And so was she. She swallowed and nodded at herself.

She’d never really hated herself when she was bigger. Sure, there were days when she’d cry after trying on clothes, or tried to smooth down the bumps when she bought a new dress, but she’d never hated herself. Never tried fad diets. She’d always liked herself too much for that. She was just Tig. She was a little chubby, and had a kind round face, and people liked her because she was nice. Darren used to pat her on the bum and say she was perfect. And her other mates used to get asked out as she sat on the sidelines, but that was fine because she had Darren. And those boys usually ended up being her mates anyway.

Now … people seemed to look at her more. The comments about how she had such a pretty face seemed to have been replaced with judgements on why she wanted to lift heavy things, did she want to look like a man, did she want to be a body builder? Why did everyone have to have an opinion on her body? It had taken so many years to find a way to change herself without admitting that meant she was less. That you could like who you were and still want to change.

She knew she was lighter, she felt lighter. She could run without pounding. Some days she worried that, as her face thinned out, she became more pointed, more drawn. But she hadn’t worried about that until Darren left. She’d liked how her body became streamlined, like an expensive car, revealing curves and smooth lines. She fluffed up her hair, and it framed her. She was too pale, and her red hair seemed to have dulled a little over the last few months. She looked herself straight in the eyes, and nodded. ‘You are doing fine,’ she said firmly. ‘You are enough.’ The same words she’d said every day since he left. She looked down to her boobs, still hefty enough, and her face shifted into an expression of pity. ‘You are, really,’ she told them, and pulled on her robe.

Tig’s process had been the same, every day. She was aware that her body had changed, and in her opinion for the better, and yet she didn’t really feel like herself anymore. She was the same outgoing, cheery girl she’d been at size sixteen (or at least until Darren went), but people seemed to respond to her differently. Men who’d joke and drink with her now made inane conversation, alternately uptight and flirtatious, playing some sort of game that she didn’t know the rules to. When she chatted with them, women thought she was competition. There was a whole world of different signals and rules that no one had ever told her about. She missed her extra weight sometimes, that shield that kept her safe, kept her away from those men that didn’t listen and the women who didn’t care.

The thought that if she’d stayed the same Darren wouldn’t have left crept in every now and then, but she pushed it back in the box, sure that her health and confidence were more important … but still. It hurt. Everyone seemed to have an opinion, and even the comments that she looked so much better now still felt like insults. It was her body, bigger or smaller, stronger or weaker, and she loved it. She was just still trying to figure out how to live in it.

She leaned closer, pulled at the dark circles under her eyes, prodded her cheeks to move some life into them. She looked washed out. She really had to relax more. She must have looked a state last night. How could Ollie have possibly … well, he wasn’t asking her out because he fancied her, he was doing it out of pity. And because he needed something. Tig appreciated that; it was safe. Here are his motives, here’s what I get out of it, it’s all clear-cut, she nodded, ignoring the dull thud in her stomach that told her she was excited.

Her phone beeped from the bedroom, and she felt her heart race a little, but dulled it down. Probably work, shut up, Tig growled at herself.

‘No chickening out now, girlfriend. Ollie (The Barman) x’

Oh, damn.

*****

Tig went about her day as usual. After the gym she cycled over to Hampstead, to The Cottage. Every time she rang on that doorbell, she felt like a failure. Perhaps because The Cottage was clearly not a cottage, but a four-million-pound mansion opposite Hampstead Heath, but mostly because this was not what she was meant to be doing with her life.

‘Lily! Come on in!’ Mariella, the housekeeper, always treated her like a friend, probably because they were both staff. Maybe this wasn’t what Mariella was meant to be doing with her life, either. ‘The kids are in the den.’

The ‘den’ being equal to the size of her and Ame’s house. She didn’t know when she’d become so bitter. Sure, the money she’d been making doing photography was good, but it wasn’t going to make her a millionaire. This house and this lifestyle had always been out of her reach, and she didn’t want it. So why was she angry?

Petunia and Theo sat quietly at the table in the middle of the room, smiling widely when they saw her. Okay, so that part was nice. They were good kids, it was easy work, and she enjoyed it. It was just that she felt like a fraud, somehow. She really needed to pick her camera up again, just to start it off. Ease into it gently. She thought about Ollie, about easing into this new part of her life gently. That was what he’d promised her, right? She shook him from her mind, his image becoming fuzzy – all she held on to were those green eyes winking at her.

‘All right, dear ones,’ she announced, plonking down her bicycle bag, ‘today, we’re going to get messy.’ Tig grinned, holding up an image of Jackson Pollock to show them. Their mum wanted them to be the next great artists at five and seven, so here she was, educating. Not quite what the art degree had been meant for, but among Petunia and Theo’s friends, who were meant to be the next Dali, Picasso and Monet, Tig was making a nice wage from the Future Hampstead Artists. Besides, maybe she wanted to fingerpaint, too.

A couple of hours later, with paint in her hair, but a smile on her face, and significantly more cash in her purse, she checked her phone as she got on her bike. Most days she’d go to Entangled, but she couldn’t, now, could she? He’d messed everything up. She couldn’t go until he called her. Or until he didn’t call her, for long enough that it became obvious that he wasn’t going to call her, and then she could go in there and purposefully ignore him. Besides, he was only here until November … she could always find another coffee shop for a few months. Tig frowned. She was not a fan of change.

Had it always been like this? Worrying about who called whom, and what it meant, and who said what, and when? Was that how people connected now? Tig felt old, and tired. She tried to remember if she’d ever felt that with Darren, but it had been easy then. Her friend told his friend, and they kissed at the school dance, and then after that they held hands, until eventually it was snogging behind the bike sheds and being the first ones to ‘do it’. It had just felt such a natural transition. If they wanted to communicate, they had to call the home phones and she had to speak to his mum about how glad she was he’d found a nice girl, and he had to hear her dad trying to connect with him through music. Which never worked, because her dad loved Bob Dylan, and Darren liked things with names like Squeakstep and Psybeats. But that made it love.

Had there been this panic? This worry about what it meant? Or had it been clear, as so many things were when you were a kid? He’s holding my hand and kissing my neck and putting his hand down my top, and he calls me his girlfriend. Obviously he likes me. He asks me to be his fake girlfriend because I’m depressed and he’s got a stalker – not so clear.

Her phone rang. Ame.

‘Hey, you wanna get dinner tonight?’ Ame sounded too perky.

‘Is Clint in the room?’

‘Uhuh! Oh, baby, you say the sweetest things!’

‘Did I tell you this is pathetic, baby, because it is! Stop pretending to date someone and just date someone.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t do that!’ Ame cooed, as if Tig had just said something depraved, but slightly alluring.

‘I am really tired of this. Do you want me to get dim sum on the way home?’ Tig asked pointedly.

‘Yeah! I’ll meet you at mine tonight. Can’t wait to see you!’ Ame hung up and Tig just stared at her phone.

‘I’m surrounded by insane people!’ she exclaimed as she put her phone in her bag and got on her bike, ‘and it’s making me talk to myself!’

On a bad day, Tig would go to the studio. It was a small space her parents had bought her as a graduation present, part of a converted factory owned by a friend of theirs, in a back street of Kentish Town. It was hers to ‘build her creative life’, according to her parents, and, to be honest, it was the only place that was hers. When Darren dumped her, and she left the flat, she’d slept at the studio on the sofa for days, too embarrassed to tell anyone. Ame and Dana had been sweet, if unsurprised, and Ame asked as a favour if Tig would stay with her for a bit, as living in the house by herself was freaking her out. Even then, Ame had been Ame. Now, it was like they were all these drones, walking around making moaning noises. Zombies, they were zombies. Out for blood and moaning about it.

Anyway, since the photography business fell through, the studio had ceased to be a haven anymore. It was more of a tomb, where all her hopes, dreams and previous talent resided, and was painful to visit. But each time she went, she handled the equipment, looked through a few more portfolios. And each time she left the studio, she missed it a little more. Some days it was the only place to get away from Ame and the flat and the realisation that things weren’t going to go back to how they were.

She didn’t want to do that now. Instead she rode up to Hampstead Heath and skidded down the slopes, untying her hair so it billowed out behind her, fiery and flamed, like a warning to all who saw her. The sun shone down on the lake, and as she curved around paths she realised that there was so much to be happy about. She jumped off, pulling a pashmina out of her bag, bunching it up into a pillow, and putting it beneath her head as she got comfy on the grass, pulling down her shades and closing her eyes. North London was home, and there was comfort in that. Her parents had been kind, her sister had been amazing, and her friends were trying their best to deal with their shit. Even if that meant Ame making lewd phone calls to her in the middle of the day, and Dana considering an implant that allowed her to make phone calls when her battery died.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket – Ollie.

‘Hello?’

‘Well, hello there, girlfriend of mine,’ he drawled. ‘How’s it going?’

‘The sun’s shining and I’m in the park – can’t get much better,’ she smiled. ‘So about last night …’

‘I told you, no chickening out. And it’s fine about the kissing thing, really, we’re both adults –’

‘Kissing?’ she squeaked.

She heard him laugh down the phone.

‘Just checking I didn’t make a binding agreement with a half-cut person.’

She grinned, eyes closed. ‘Well, you did, but who am I to judge? How’s your crazy neighbour? Come by bearing any more hairy muffins?’

‘You’re disgusting.’ His chuckle was deep and delicious. ‘She appeared thirty seconds after I got in the door with ice cream and a DVD she thought we could watch together.’

‘Was she wearing itsy-bitsy pyjamas?’ Tig teased.

‘More like a dress worn for nightclubbing and six-inch heels.’

‘Oh, boy, you’re in trouble.’

‘Well, good thing I got me a girlfriend who can kick-box the shit out of a bitch, if I remember your words correctly.’

Tig winced and felt her cheeks redden. ‘Um … well, I can!’

‘I have no doubt.’ Ollie paused. ‘So are you stopping by Entangled today? I thought I could use my free tea privileges. If you drink tea …’

‘Maybe something a boyfriend should know.’ Tig grinned, and shook her head at herself. Why was this so easy? Chatting on the phone to a random man she’d talked rubbish at last night while drunk should have been more difficult, shouldn’t it?

‘Hey, I got a whole history of heartbreak. Apologies for not knowing your beverage choices. Beyond red wine and shots.’

‘And margaritas! Don’t forget the margaritas!’ Tig laughed. ‘I certainly haven’t.’

‘I will learn all your favourite things as part of my boyfriendly duties – so, Entangled today?’

‘I don’t know … hadn’t thought about it,’ she lied.

‘Come on. Ruby told me this is where you do most of your work, and I had this terrible feeling, like I might have stolen your work space from you by hitting on you.’

‘Huh. Really?’

‘Yeah. Look, come down, do your normal thing, and then maybe we could go for a drink, or dinner?’

‘You don’t waste time, do you?’ Tig said, a sense of panic rising from her stomach to her chest. Dinner. What did people do at dinner? Don’t order garlic, and dress nicely, and when was the last time she’d ironed anything, or had worn something that wasn’t yoga pants or tie-dye?

‘Only got four months, gotta move fast. What do you say?’

Tig gulped, feeling like she was agreeing to a dentist appointment. ‘Okay.’

‘You sure, Miss Tigerlily? You’re allowed to change your mind, you know.’

‘Well, I’m terrified, so I can only imagine that’s a good thing,’ Tig said frankly. ‘I’ll be there in a couple of hours, a few things to do first.’

‘Don’t be terrified, it’ll be great! Plus, you can feel safe with me. I’m not going to jump you or anything, remember? A promise is a promise.’

Great, Tig thought, because how awful would that be, a boyfriend who wanted to jump me?

‘Plus, messing with a kick-boxer, probably not a good idea,’ Ollie laughed, then trailed off as he heard her hesitance. ‘Honestly, Tig, I don’t want to force you into anything. And think of this as a pre-date, a mini date, if you will. We’ll do the proper pick-you-up, take-you-out thing, too, but I thought …’

‘It sounds great, Ollie, really.’ Tig felt exhausted. ‘I’ll see you at Entangled in a bit.’

They said their goodbyes, and Tig tried to recapture the calm she’d felt just moments before, but it was gone. All she could think about was what she’d wear, and how he’d think she was boring, and the pain of an awkward silence. Although she guessed Ollie had never had an awkward silence in his life.

She called Ame. ‘I have to cancel on dim sum tonight. Although your fake stud muffin could always pick it up for you.’

‘Aw, man, I was totally craving pork shumai. What’s more important than food?’

Tig screwed up her eyes. ‘Um, I’m going on a fake date. With Ollie. The barman. At Entangled.’

There was silence, and then a small hiccup. ‘I’m not sure how to respond to this,’ Ame said. ‘What exactly is a fake date?’

Tig tried to explain as simply as possible in a way that didn’t seem mental. ‘We’re going to hang out, in a platonic way. He’s been through the same situation I’ve been through, and he’s going to show me how to date.’

‘Riiight …’

‘But it’s not real,’ Tig said resolutely, ‘it’s fake.’

‘So you don’t really eat food?’

‘No, we just … you know, we’re not actually attracted to each other.’

‘There is no way anyone with eyes could not be attracted to that man.’

‘Well, I’m not!’ Liar, Tig thought.

‘Liar,’ said Ame. ‘So … what is the point of all of this?’

Tig sighed. ‘I don’t know. It’s just time, isn’t it? I don’t know how to do any of this. I haven’t ever been on a first date! I just fell into a relationship, and now I don’t know how to be an adult.’

‘Join the club,’ Ame sighed. ‘I’m a divorcee at twenty-six. Who saw that shit coming?’

Me, Tig thought, then shook it away. ‘So this is a good idea?’

‘Can’t be worse than sitting around getting bitter and angry and eating a fucktonne of ice cream, can it?’ She could hear Ame shrugging. ‘Which is pretty much what my evening now consists of.’

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m eating lunch in one of the abandoned offices on the thirteenth floor. It’s the only place Clint can’t find me. He just stopped by the front desk when I got back from M&S – he’s taking his new girlfriend out to lunch. She’s six foot and works at Vogue. Looks about nineteen, the perve.’

‘Oh Ames,’ Tig sighed.

‘Nah, you’re right. It’s time to be done with this. Go on your fake date with the gorgeous barman. At least one of us should be moving on.’

Tig frowned at how much sense Ame was making, and considered telling her about Darren’s wedding, but she decided she couldn’t deal with the drama. She’d dealt with it herself last night, with the help of Ollie and alcohol. She didn’t have to tell the girls now. She had to focus on how to go on a date without throwing up.

Chapter Three

She was not emotionally ready for this at all. Tig couldn’t help but look at herself, and wonder what on earth she had to offer anyone at this point. She was all dressed up: her black polka dot dress, her biker boots and leather jacket. She was dressed for war, if anything. And all she could think of was Darren. Darren leaving, Darren looking at her like she was an idiot for not getting it sooner.

‘Look, Lil, it’s just … it’s not the same anymore, you’re not the same.’ He stood above her as she curled up on the sofa.

‘Daz, I just asked you to put the kettle on, there’s no need for a hissy fit.’ She huffed and stood up, stretching out. Happy bloody Valentine’s Day to me, she thought.

‘It’s not about the sodding tea!’ Darren shouted. ‘You’ve changed.’

‘How have I changed?’

‘You’re at the gym all the time!’ He shouted.

She blinked. ‘Darren, you realise we’re getting married in five days? It’s natural for me to be at the gym.’

He looked at her, his blond hair ruffled over his round face. Darren had always looked as if someone had bleached a bulldog. A little bit boyband, a little bit rugby player.

‘No, before. Since you … since you stopped being fat.’ He took a breath. ‘Things have been different.’

‘You said …’ She tried to stop her lip from trembling. ‘You said I wasn’t fat.’

‘You weren’t. I preferred you like that.’ He looked at the floor, and then back up again.

‘What … you mean you don’t … I’m healthy now. I got fit and healthy and worked hard to be like this!’ Okay, so now she was pissed. She’d spent the last two years working out, and counting calories, and forgoing curries for salads, and finding out that she loved the gym. She loved lifting, loved being strong, and feeling her muscles strain and grow. She loved being stronger than the boys in the gym, loved feeling like her body was actually functioning as it should. And he was … angry at her?

‘Yeah, and it’s all you’re fucking about. Salads, and discipline and cardio. You’re at the gym, and you’re lifting weights to bulk out like a bloke. And your tits are too small now.’

Tig looked at him. Looked at the sad little man he was, with his beer gut from all the Stella and curries. But … but he was hers. She loved the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and how he knew her favourite TV shows and how she liked her tea. That he would engulf her in a bear hug when she was sad, that they’d been together since they were fifteen and that everything she’d ever known about love she’d known from him.

‘So … you want me to stop going to the gym?’

‘No. I just … I just don’t think we should do this anymore.’ He shrugged at the ceiling.

‘This … this … this WEDDING THAT’S HAPPENING IN FIVE DAYS? Is that the THIS you’re talking about?’ she screamed.

‘Yes! I don’t think I love you anymore.’

‘You don’t love me and my tits are too small and you liked me better fat?’ She snorted in disbelief. ‘Anything else? My job’s a joke and my degree was shit and you hate my family?’

‘Stop being melodramatic, Lily,’ he sighed. ‘It’s not like this is easy for me, either.’

‘Are you JOKING?’ She thought her eyes were going to fall out of her skull. ‘Or are you just an IDIOT? What is actually WRONG with you? How the FUCK is this hard for YOU?’

Darren shuffled, ruffling his hair. ‘Well, it’s not been easy to be around you. You’re the one who’s gone wedding crazy, and really wanted to get married –’

‘YOU proposed to ME!’

‘Yeah, but it’s … it had to be done, didn’t it? I thought we were going to wait a few years after the engagement –’

‘It’s been THREE YEARS, you fuck!’

‘Fine! I just don’t fancy you anymore, okay?’ he huffed. ‘You’re obsessed with the gym and fitness and we have nothing in common anymore. I just think we should call it, and move on.’

Somewhere, deep in the recesses of her mind, she knew, she absolutely knew, that it couldn’t really be about her liking the gym. It couldn’t really be that, just as she’d gone from a size sixteen to a size twelve, her 38EE chest had rounded out to a 34D. She was in proportion. Her back didn’t hurt anymore … surely it couldn’t be that after twelve years, he just … didn’t fancy her? But maybe it was.

‘I’m going to lose all the deposits.’ She stared into the distance, thinking about the flowers, and the caterer and the dress in her cupboard with that silly little note attached, with the smiley face, that she replaced every day as she counted down.

‘Not really a reason to get married, though, is it?’ Darren tried to smile, like now the worst was over. She watched his face change as she bared her teeth.

‘Fine for you to say. It’s all my wages.’ She tilted her head. ‘And how are you going to do this, then? Are you moving? Am I? If you’re going to jilt me the least you can do is let me keep my flat.’

‘You can keep the flat. I’ll stay with a friend,’ Darren said quickly.

‘A friend.’

The silence hung in the air, getting thicker and more suffocating until she said in the calmest and softest voice she knew, ‘Darren, if you have been fucking around on me, I swear to God I’ll cut your dick off.’

‘I haven’t! I wouldn’t!’

‘Well, until ten minutes ago I thought you wouldn’t insult my body and break my heart, but HEY, SHIT HAPPENS!’

I sound crazy, she thought. I need to stop sounding so fucking crazy. She took a breath.

‘Okay. You go stay with your “friend”. I’m not going to be able to afford this place on my own anyway now …’ Weirdly, that was the thing that made her tearful, her chest suddenly contracting. Their flat, her home, the place they’d been for years now. Designed, and painted, and worked hard for. And now she didn’t have a home. And she’d have to live on her own; she’d never done that before. Even at uni, she’d been with Darren. She’d never been planning to ever have to do that … She took a breath, and looked up at him. She was about to break, and like fuck was he going to see it happen. She could already feel everything slipping away, visualising the kids they wouldn’t have, the home they wouldn’t live in, the Sunday morning pancakes that were the only decent thing Darren could cook, and bleaching his hair in the bathroom every few months, and the dress she wouldn’t wear …

‘You need to go now. Pack some shit up and leave. We’ll arrange a time for you to get it.’ She sounded a lot more sure than she felt.

‘Okay, Lil.’ Darren smiled at her hopefully. ‘I’m really glad you took this so well. You’re obviously on the same page I am. It must have been clear we were drifting apart to you, too, and –’

‘Darren?’ Tig took a deep breath. ‘Get your stuff, get out. And then go fuck yourself.’

Tig physically shook the memory away, standing at the doorway to Entangled. This felt wrong, it felt the most wrong thing in the world to be at her cafe dressed in real-people clothes. Tig at Entangled was a Tig who wore yoga pants and tie-dye and didn’t do much beyond wash her face and bury her head in a notebook. Somehow dressing up made her feel like an imposter, a fraud. Like she was saying she cared about Ollie’s opinion of her. She stood, hand clenched around the door handle, and growled at herself a little. ‘You’ve got this, bitch, open the freaking door,’ she told herself, and miraculously her body listened.

She marched across the wooden floor, heading for her table, not looking at anyone, purposefully not looking for Ollie.

‘Hello, lovely, we missed you today.’ Ruby smiled, rubbing her shoulder. ‘Worried the new guy ran you off.’

‘Nope,’ Tig smiled defiantly. ‘This is home. Couldn’t leave even if I wanted to.’

‘I’m glad. We miss you when you’re not here.’ Ruby pulled out Tig’s usual chair. ‘I’ll go grab your tea. Have a slice of cake, won’t you?’

Tig quickly did a calculation of how far she’d cycled, and what she’d had for breakfast, and how much of a sugar comedown she’d be on if she said yes … oh, fuck it. Time to stop being boring. ‘Have you got your Baileys and Guinness cake?’

‘Coming right up!’ Ruby squeezed her shoulders once more, and was off.

Tig took the time to look around Entangled, and all was as it always had been. Bright-coloured paintings on the walls, the box of lego pieces at the back. Whitewashed walls, and mismatched tables – the whole place was bright, and airy, and personal. Tig had wandered in years ago, when she’d seen a poster for life drawing classes, and from then on it had become a haven. The staff had seen her photographs, they’d seen her planning her wedding, they’d seen her fall apart but continue chugging along. She should almost be embarrassed, she supposed, the amount of her life that had been on show in this public place, but, to be honest, Ruby took care of her. She’d turned up a few days after the wedding was supposed to have taken place, and Ruby took one look at her, brought her tea and cake, and informed the staff that no one was to ask any goddamn questions. And slowly, things had gone back to normal.

‘Hey!’ Tig looked up and saw Tabby walking past her to her usual seat. The journalist often sat at the back of the cafe around the same time of day. ‘Guinness cake! Good choice!’

‘I’ll regret it later.’ Tig smiled at the brunette as she got out her laptop and started faffing with her notepads.

‘No,’ the woman shook her head firmly. ‘There shall be no regretting cake. I do not regret the cakes I have eaten, only the ones I have not.’

‘Good mantra,’ Tig grinned. ‘Lot of work today?’

The brunette sighed. ‘Last couple of articles for deadline. I’m travelling for a couple of months, off next week. Has to be finished.’

‘Awesome. Where are you going?’

‘I have no idea. My boyfriend decided I need more surprises in my life. Which is awful and makes me want to vomit. But if it’s one less thing to arrange, then that’s fine with me!’ The woman laughed, and Tig thought suddenly, I want to be like you. You know what you’re doing.

‘Well, I’ll let you get on. Happy working!’ Tig said.

‘You, too!’

Tig turned back around, got out her own notebook. That was what she loved about this place, the comfort of it all, the familiarity. Home.

A towering slice of moist chocolate cake and a green tea suddenly appeared on her table.

‘Well, don’t you look gorgeous.’ His voice seemed to laugh at her a little.

Tig looked up. ‘I didn’t yesterday?’

‘Oh, you’re definitely acting like a girlfriend now,’ Ollie grinned. She looked at him, blue shirt rolled up to his elbows, straining at the biceps, black beanie covering most of his blond hair. His eyes were still as dangerously green as they had been the night before.

‘Isn’t it somewhere in the rules you’re meant to make a girl wait before you phone her up and ask her out. Something about a three-day rule?’

He leaned in and she found herself taking a sharp breath at how close he was, how his cologne smelled spicy and intoxicating. ‘I don’t play games, Tigerlily. If I want something, I go for it.’

He doesn’t want you, not like that, she reminded herself.

‘Oh, shut up, this whole thing is a game,’ she said, brash and loud, trying to stop him using that soft voice that made her stomach dip.

‘It’s a lesson, very different.’

‘It’s an arrangement, and had money changed hands for services we’d both be in jail.’ She looked back at her tea, wondering why she couldn’t be cool anymore. Tigerlily was nothing if not cool under pressure. Or, at least, the old Tig was. Ollie seemed to be intent on showing her that she was a newbie at all of this, and was enjoying every minute of it.

‘That makes no sense, unless one of us has offered services I wasn’t aware of. Not that I’d complain,’ he smirked.

‘I’m going to take all of that bullshit as an ill-fated attempt to tell me you like my dress, right?’

‘You take it however you want to, gorgeous. I’m afraid I have to get back to work.’ He winked. ‘I’m done at six – dinner?’

‘If you stop being such an arsehole,’ she said pointedly, watching as he grinned again, rearranging his hat. As he lifted his arms, the shirt slipped up, showing the barest sliver of his stomach, and Tig averted her eyes, unsure why that seemed so intimate.

‘It’s called flirtation, darling, it’s all good practice.’

‘Well, when you’re done reminding me why I don’t date, feel free to come back as the Ollie you were yesterday, who was capable of having an honest conversation.’ She huffed, exasperated.

‘You’ll learn to love it once you learn to play.’

‘That’s what they said about football and I still can’t stand it.’

Ollie stood in front of her, hands on hips, head tilted as he smiled, as though he couldn’t quite believe her.

‘You are something else, Tigerlily James. Now I’ve got to go before I get fired for hitting on the staff. Ruby was very aware that I’d talked to you yesterday and that you weren’t here this afternoon. Apparently, wooing her favourite patron is not the done thing.’

‘Neither is using the term wooing,’ Tig grinned. ‘Oh, I think I’m getting the hang of this smart-arse thing now. You’re right, it’s enjoyable!’

‘Eat your cake, clever clogs.’

*****

‘This isn’t really how it’s meant to work.’ Ollie made a face as he opened the door for her and they left Entangled together. It seemed so public, with the other staff there, the ones she’d sort of known for years, judging her somehow. He’d pulled on a leather jacket of his own, so now she was worrying that they looked like they matched, or that people would look at them and know they were faking it somehow.

Shut up, Tig, you’re overthinking this, she thought furiously.

‘How’s it meant to work?’

‘Well, I pick you up from your house for a start.’ Ollie’s hand seemed to hover at the base of her spine, as if he was guiding a startled horse. It was somehow both irritating and comforting.

‘What if you turned out to be a nutcase, and then you knew where I lived?’ Tig shook her head. ‘This is a much better plan.’

He nudged her with his elbow as they walked along. ‘Trust issues.’

She stopped and looked at him pointedly. ‘Uh, duh?’

He was almost painfully beautiful, and she wished she hadn’t stopped to face him now. If she’d only picked one of the nice, nerdy types who appreciated her brain and wanted to buy her coffee. The ones who would hover around as a ‘friend’ for months and months, until they got drunk and accidentally realised they were a couple. She could deal with that. That didn’t feel quite so … obvious as this. She just had to keep remembering it was all a lie. He hadn’t asked her out because he was attracted to her, and the banter wasn’t to get her into bed. It was literally him taking pity on a charity case. She had to think of Ollie more as a mentor, a lecturer in the world of dating, rather than a fake boyfriend. Right. Teacher.

‘You look wonderful, by the way.’ He smiled at her, so damn sincere. Or at least seemingly so. Not that you could tell. Urgh, this whole thing was a mess.

‘Oh, um …’ – she felt her skin heat up and bit her lip in irritation – ‘this dress is really old.’

‘Tigerlily? Step One of Ollie’s intro into dating: someone gives you a compliment, you say thank you. You keep rejecting nice words, people won’t give them to you anymore.’

Ollie paused and raised his eyebrows, waiting to see if she was going to argue with him. ‘Let’s try again? Tigerlily, you look wonderful tonight.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Tig purposefully chanted like a child.

‘Sarcastic, but I’ll take it. How do you feel about Thai food?’

Tig grinned in relief. ‘My favourite.’

‘A little birdie may have mentioned that.’

‘And how does that little birdie feel about you fake-dating her favourite customer?’

‘She knows I’m leaving in four months, and thinks it’s terribly unfair of me to drag you into anything,’ Ollie shrugged. ‘But, Ruby seems the type to let you make your own mistakes. Plus, if I hurt you, I’m out of a job, so that should give you some confidence in the situation.’

Tig grinned to herself. ‘Maybe a little.’

They turned down a side street in Kings Cross, and then another, and another, until Tig was thoroughly lost. Which was always kind of jarring, when she felt she knew North London like no one else could. But everyone had their secret spots in the city, and she loved that Ollie was no exception.

They entered a dark, small restaurant, and the waiter lit up, shaking Ollie’s hand, and ushering them in.

‘Come here often?’ she asked as they settled.

‘I used to work here, always try to stop by whenever I’m back in London.’ Ollie waved over the counter to the chef in the back, an older portly man who smiled back with two thumbs up.

‘You were a waiter?’ Tig asked. ‘Is that what the job in four months is?’

Ollie grinned at her, and took off the beanie, ruffling his hair. ‘Ah, now you’re intrigued, right? Who waits four months for a waitstaff job?’

‘Someone who needs a really good cover for a heist?’ Tig offered, nodding in thanks as the water was brought to their table.

‘Know what you want, Ollie?’ the waiter asked.

‘Can you ask Chef for the usual? He’ll know.’ He shared a grin with the waiter.

‘Probably going to shit himself.’

‘If it’s as good as it was when I left, he’s got no worries.’ Ollie winked, then turned to Tig. ‘Wine?’

‘Sure, whatever you prefer.’ Tig shrugged, guessing that it was probably better to make as few decisions tonight as possible.

‘You’re not allergic to anything, or hate certain foods, or …’

‘Nope, I’m all good,’ she smiled, and the waiter nodded and walked off.

‘What are you, the king of London Thai food?’

Ollie leaned in and looked at her. ‘I’m a chef.’

‘What, like someone who makes meth?’

Ollie tilted his head. ‘That’s a cook.’

‘Oh.’

He frowned. ‘You think it’s more likely that I manufacture methamphetamine than it is that I cook decent food for people to eat?’

‘Umm …’ Tig screwed up her nose. ‘No, but …’

‘But!’

‘Okay, number one: you’re kind of a salesman. I walk around hating everything attached to a penis the last seven months, I am fuming that my ex is getting remarried less than a year after dumping me, and … you somehow convince me to enter a relationship with you.’

‘A fake relationship.’

‘Yes, but one that involves coming to restaurants, and wearing real clothes, and talking to someone else. I still don’t know how any of this has happened.’

‘It’s a magical substance called wine. And possibly empathy, or even chivalry,’ Ollie said snootily.

‘Chivalry? How about capitalising on the situation?’

‘How about you were miserable, I was lonely, and I thought we’d get along. Which, of course, is working out swimmingly!’ Ollie rolled his eyes, tapping his fingers on the table.

Tig bit her lip, tugged at her hair. ‘Okay, I seem to be stuck on my “automatic bitch” setting. Truce?’

Ollie sighed. ‘Just … I have no ulterior motives. In this situation, we could not have been more upfront. We hang out for a few months, have a nice time. You keep away my crazy neighbour, I take you for some nice dinners, we have a laugh. We hopefully leave as friends, and if not, it’s been a nice experience. That’s it!’

‘I know … I’m just …’

‘You’ve been hurt. I know.’ Ollie reached across and squeezed her hand. He looked so damn earnest she actually felt guilty for accusing him of being a drug merchant. Or creator. Whatever.

‘Okay, sorry. Let’s start again. So you’re a chef!’ Tig injected enthusiasm into her voice.

Ollie raised an eyebrow, smirk firmly in place. ‘No, no, no. Wait a minute. What was number two?’

‘Two?’

‘On the list of reasons why I’d make a more believable meth maker than food creator?’

‘Um – well, you look like you subsist on a diet of grilled chicken and protein shakes. Not really what you’d expect from a chef.’

Ollie grinned like a Cheshire cat and said nothing.

‘What, no smart-arse answer to that?’

‘Hey, it’s a compliment. I’m not complaining.’ He threw his hands up.

‘Is it not true?’

He twitched his nose a little. ‘Partly. I was a fat chef for a while. Now I work out and eat a lot of protein. Luckily, I know how to season stuff. Healthy food doesn’t have to be boring.’

Tig shrugged. ‘I like bland. It makes me feel like I know it’s good for me.’

‘I’ll cook for you sometime,’ Ollie said earnestly. ‘I created a whole menu for this fat camp in Vermont. They didn’t even realise it was health food.’

‘So is that your new job? Health food stuff?’ Tig leaned in, engaged by the idea that Ollie might have been a different type of person, that he had looked different before. A fat chef. But he looked so at home in his body. So proud of it. He owned it, like you would never have known. Maybe he wasn’t really a fat chef, in the same way those popular girls at school would go on fad diets to lose three pounds, when they were waifs to begin with. It’s just what you say, isn’t it?

The waiter returned with the wine, and a series of appetisers, each so delicious that Tig actually moaned upon chewing. They sat quietly for a few moments, savouring the tastes. Ollie didn’t turn around but simply raised his arm and put a thumbs up. Tig was facing the kitchen and saw the chef grin and nod at himself, proud and contented.

‘Did you design this menu?’

Ollie nodded, clearly fighting his ego, and failing at being modest about it. ‘I was brought in to fix up the menu, give it a little boost. The last chef was a waste of space. I came in, trained up these guys and set the new menu in place.’

‘So we’re here because you wanted to show off?’ Tig smirked knowingly.

‘We’re here because I wanted to be able to grab you from Entangled, and I know the food is good,’ Ollie insisted, ‘though bragging is part of the appeal. It could have gone the other way – if the menu had screwed up, I could have gone all Gordon Ramsay on the chef, and you would have run away screaming.’

‘Well, there’s always next week,’ she smiled, and held up her wine glass to his. ‘Here’s to new adventures, and taking chances.’

‘Changed your tune now you know I can feed you.’

Tig laughed. ‘Women are very practical.’

The meal passed more smoothly after that, talking about food and drink, different places in London they loved, places they’d like to go.

As they left the restaurant, the chef came round and hugged Ollie, thanking him for the opportunity, promising to make him proud. Ollie rested his hand on Tig’s back as they walked along.

‘You going to the tube station?’ he asked.

‘Yep. Hampstead,’ she shrugged. ‘You?’

‘Highgate.’

Her eyes raised. ‘Ooh, well, chefs get paid well, don’t they?’

‘It’s my mate Harry’s. You were chatting to his girlfriend in Entangled earlier?’

‘Tabby?’

‘Yeah, so I came over to visit, and they couldn’t be bothered to rent his flat out while they were travelling, so they said I could stay there.’ He paused. ‘Tabby was the one who got me the job at Entangled, actually.’

‘Wow …’ Tig said, secretly wondering if it was rude to ask what their life was like.

Ollie paused. ‘Besides, you live in Hampstead – that’s way more posh.’

Tig shrugged. ‘It’s my friend Ame’s house – she got divorced and doesn’t like staying there alone.’

‘Living in the realm of broken dreams?’

‘Something like that.’ Tig paused and looked at him. ‘You know we haven’t actually talked about anything real this evening?’

‘I think talking about Breaking Bad for an hour is very real, thank you.’

She grinned. ‘No, I mean, I don’t know where your new job is, or why you have an American accent. You don’t know what I do for a living …’

‘Ah, yes, but I know that you hate coconut milk, and love noodles. That you prefer red wine to white, that you have a stationery addiction and like black and white movies. Those are the things that make a person.’

‘Oh, really?’ Tig pulled a face, trying not to be impressed at his observations as they walked down the stairs into the Underground station. ‘Then how come I feel like I haven’t learnt anything about you at all?’

‘It’s my air of mystery, Tigerlily. I’m all aloof to keep you coming back for more!’

It’s kind of working, she thought to herself with irritation. Although it was almost disappointment in herself that she hadn’t picked up all the things he’d realised about her. She’d been too busy being shocked at how easy it all was, to eat, drink, have a conversation about meaningless, fun things. She had noticed some things, though. The way his eyelashes fluttered when he laughed, and the crinkles around his eyes as he grinned. The way he pursed his lips just before he was about to say something funny, and that he seemed to chew each piece of food about a hundred times, focusing on getting each individual flavour. But none of these were things she could say. They were just … somehow Ollie. This strange man she didn’t know anything about. Except that he could feed her.

‘Shit, train’s coming!’ Ollie grabbed her hand, and together they ran down the steps, out onto the platform, and jumped on just as the doors were closing.

‘There would have been another in five minutes!’ she gasped.

‘But where would the fun have been in that?’

‘You just wanted to hold my hand!’ she teased as the train left the station, holding up their still intertwined fingers.

‘Aren’t I a scoundrel?’ Ollie grinned at her, standing too close in the cramped carriage. He let go of her hand, but put it around her back. ‘Just to keep you steady.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Tig said knowingly, but her chest started pounding. Stop it, you idiot. ‘What train are we on?’

‘Edgware – I’m afraid I’m off at the next stop.’

‘Well, thank you for a lovely evening,’ Tig said formally. ‘It was less terrifyingly awkward than I anticipated.’

‘Well, if that isn’t a glowing reference, I don’t know what is!’ Ollie grabbed her hand dramatically and kissed it. ‘I bid you goodnight, Tigerlily James, and look forward to our next encounter!’

Tig blushed and looked around at the other people in the carriage, who were all resolutely avoiding eye contact, but seemed to be smirking.

‘Women! You say all you want is romance, and Mister-sodding-Darcy, and the minute we give in, you freak out!’ Ollie jumped off the train onto the platform, waving. ‘Night!’

And he was gone, vaulting along the platform in long strides. Strange, strange man, Tig grinned to herself, and realised her face hurt from how much she’d smiled that evening. Which was great, but also a little sad that she was so out of practice.

So this is what dating is, she thought to herself, saying clever things and being quick and not giving anything away. She found it exhausting and exhilarating. Just like Ollie himself.

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